


The Reaping

by AmethystUnarmed



Series: Ever In Your Favor [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystUnarmed/pseuds/AmethystUnarmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rythian attended this year's Reaping, the results were the last thing he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reaping

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

That was Rythian's first thought. It had to be a joke. One time. Her name had been entered one. Goddamn. Time. Any moment, Sjin was going to burst out an amused chortle and state that it had all been in jest. He would laugh, wave his arms around, and then announce the real "winner." Or maybe he'd wake up screaming. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had this dream. He would shriek, and then she'd come in. She'd look up at him with big, doe eyes and hug around his neck, like nothing would ever be wrong again. The last thing he expected was what actually happened.

Sjin cleared his throat, adjusted his ice blue tie. "Zoeya Proasheck?" He repeated, more emphasis on the name. Then it was all too real. This was really happening. Zoey was the one. She'd been chosen in the reaping. He could see a ripple among the younger kids, far off in front of him, and knew it was her. He looked up, watching in horror as her face was projected on the big screens.

She was amazing. She set her jaw, walked with purpose, clearly trying to not show fear. But he knew better. He noticed the way her eyes shifted between her Peacekeeper escorts. He clearly saw the slightest of trembles in her left hand. Zoey was absolutely terrified.

He wasn't sure when exactly he made his decision. It had to have been when she straightened her eye piece. Zoey never took care of that thing, it was always crooked. She'd run through the door after a long day of playing, face flushed, eyes shining, and the green lense crooked on the side of her face.

_"Tsk, tsk," Rythian would scoff with a smile, "You ought to take better care of your parts, little technomage." And then he'd reach across and straighten the little piece of tech as she giggled._

Yes, that must have been what set him off. Because the next thing he knew, he was pushing bystanders aside. The other residents of Chunk 12 gasped and muttered amongst themselves as he leapt over the crowd control barrier and into the empty walkway. Peacekeepers ran at him, their guns at the ready. A troublemaker like Rythian couldn't make a scene, not while they were under the close eye of the Capitol. But none of them got a chance to fire. Rythian shouted the magic words long before any of them could touch him.

"I volunteer!" He shouted, and nearly winced. God, he hoped he didn't sound as desperate and hoarse as he thought he did. He spoke again, quickly, before anyone could doubt him. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd went dead silent. It was like Rythian truly had cast a spell over the crowd. The Peacekeeper directly in front of him moved aside, clearing the way to the stage.

“Well,” Sjin stated with a smile, trying to hide his surprise. “It looks like we have Chunk 12’s first volunteer! Come up to the stage.” As soon as Rythian took a step forward, all hell broke loose.

"RYTHIAN!" He heard Zoey scream. _Please, please no..._ If she got to him, clung to his leg, begged him to stay... He wouldn’t be able to keep an emotionless mask, he wouldn’t be able to ignore the panic and despair that was welling in his throat.

He didn’t want to cry in front of the entirety of Minecraftia.

“Rythian no!” Zoey’s voice was growing quieter. Quickly, he shot a glance over his shoulder and nearly collapsed with relief. Teep had thrown her over his shoulder, and was taking her back to the rest of her friends. Though he knew this wasn’t what she wanted (he could still hear sobs as she thrashed and pounded Teep’s shoulder), he couldn’t help but be grateful.

“Thank you,” he murmured, though he knew he would not be heard.

After that, Rythian moved in a daze.

“Come on, don’t be shy.” Sjin spoke with a winning smile, the spotlights on his teeth were dazzling. His voice over the speakers was the only thing keeping Rythian grounded, a North Star orienting him when everything else had gone dark. He barely noticed the Peacekeepers fall in behind him, most likely to keep him from running. He wouldn’t have been the first to try.

But Rythian was too far gone to even consider making a break for it. He was entirely numb, not feeling his legs moving beneath him. His mind was entirely occupied. I’m going to the Games, he thought, the phrase echoing back and forth in his brain.

He didn’t feel his legs trudge up the steps, nor his eyes squint as joined Sjin in the yellow light. Notch, his throat was dry. He tried to swallow and it felt like he was eating sand. Sjin reached out and took his hand as he approached, leading him forward toward the microphone. The announcer’s hands were soft, nails buff and perfectly round, free from any flaw. Rythian suddenly became aware of just how knackered his own hands were. They were rough from climbing trees and scraping through bushes, looking for berries. Both were littered with scars left from haywire spells and mobs that had managed to get the jump on him. Even after scrubbing for an hour this morning, his palms and fingers were lined with filth and ender residue, stained grey and blue. He instantly wanted to yank his hands away. And considering the look on Sjin’s face, he had the same idea.

“Normally, you wait until I ask for any volunteers,” Sjin reprimanded with a smile, but tone more annoyed than teasing, “but this’ll do. Now, what is your name?” Slowly, as though he thought it would bite him, Rythian leaned towards the mic stand.

“R-Rythian,” he said, and nearly hit himself. His voice was so mousy, practically a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Rythian Proasheck.” Sjin’s eyes flickered with recognition. He stage persona faded a degree, and Rythian could hear the sincerity leaking through.

“I’ll bet... that was you sister.” Rythian nodded once, still not trusting his voice. Sjin offered a true smile. “That was very brave.” And the sincerity was gone as quickly as it came, a glowing smile once again plastered on his face.

“And now for our next contestant!” Once again, Sjin’s hand flittered toward the glass bowl. “Our...” Fingers drifted in lazy circles over the pile of names. “Lucky...” They dipped in, and locked on a card near the center of the mass. “Tribute...” With a flourish, he presented the unopened card. “Is...” Delicately, ever so carefully, Sjin unfolded the card. He beamed, and spoke with a tone sweeter than syrup.

“Lalna Lividcoffee!”

It was funny, really. That amongst all those people, Rythian could see him. Could see the exact moment he heard his name. It was the blonde boy, about a dozen rows back. Had to be. He was the one tensed body amidst a sea of relaxation, the rest thankful they had made it through another year. But not him. His shoulders hitched, his face paled to match the color of his dress shirt, his eyes, big and blue, widened to take up half his face. It was easy to spot. Rythian could even see the outline of his Adam’s apple bob as he nervously swallowed.

Those beside standing near him soon realized his significance. With hurried steps, they scuttled away. He was instantly outed, a leper where a man once stood. The crowd parted as he stepped forward, head held high. With his proud expression, he could have easily been mistaken for a prince among his subjects, despite the pauper’s wares. But even with the gritted teeth and stony eyes, Rythian still saw some of that initial fear. The blonde’s hand twitched and ducked into his pocket, fiddling with its contents.

When he reached the stage, Rythian was struck with realization. I know him. I know that face. Not just from school, or walking around the Chunk. He was something more. Images flooded his brain. Blonde hair, worried eyes. Angry red mark on his cheek. And snow. They had been surrounded by snow. Rythian had been cold, absolutely freezing. He could see his breath-

“Wonderful!” Sjin tittered, knocking Rythian from his reverie. “Lovely to meet you!” He exclaimed, extending a hand to the boy. Lalna—that was his name—moved mechanically in response, returning a mumbled greeting from reflex rather than respect. Still, the bearded man never stopped beaming as he placed his hands on their shoulders, drawing them closer together. “Now shake hands you two! You’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot!” Rythian decided that Sjin was way too happy.

Even so, Rythian slowly took a breath and stuck out his hand. Lalna absentmindedly mirrored him. Tan and pale fingers intertwined, locked in a firm grip. The blonde was shaking, so much so that Rythian could barely keep his own hand steady. He offered a hopeless smile that Rythian couldn’t bring himself to return.

“And there you have it!” Sjin cheered, wrapping an arm around them both. He discretely angled them towards the cameras. Lalna still hadn’t let go of his hand. “I present to you your tributes from Chunk 12!” The announcer began an enthusiastic round of applause. It was customary, of course. Celebrate for the lucky kids who got to go and fight to the death. But not this year. This year, no one clapped, no one faked a smile. One could find a more lively reaction in a morgue. Then slowly, one by one, the citizens of Chunk 12 lifted three fingers to their lips, kissed them, then hold them out toward the stage. It was a common gesture in Chunk 12, a sign of solidarity, a sign of love.

Rythian nodded and returned the gesture. They couldn’t protest, but they could do this. They would not applaud. They would not cheer. Because this was not okay. Sjin gave an awkward chuckle and scratched his head.

“Heh, um, okay... So, er...” He quickly recovered, confusion turning to cloying sweetness. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the gods be ever in your favor!”


End file.
